Yin-Yang
by Eduard Kassel
Summary: There are roads not taken, coins that could have fallen another way. One familiar road a man crumbled into clay. On another, this road, a woman fell, and rose not merely as one; filling a role no one in Gotham realized was vacant. Scars and vendettas run deep, a false man of medicine prods events along in the name of curiosity, and the coin awaits the hand. The Batman AU
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own The Batman.

 **Author Announcement: Hello, EK here. I am sure many people here are readers of my other stories and are understandably irked by my not updating them. This is not abandoning anything. But failure to get past my block with any speed has lread me to work on other stuff. Like the original story I hope may be published novel of my own someday.**

 **Basically Digging this idea up and finding I atill liked it, I gave it a whirl. A good bit was already written too. Basically my hope is too get back into a fanfic groove hoping it will help.**

 **Queen of All Oni is easily the next in line up unless i try to keep this story going for a rapid update. The next chapter for that story is structured such that i am considering taking the half of the narrative that is done and post it now. A short chapter, but still better than none and it would move the plot along. But I worry the few parts they do cross will make seperating them awkward.**

 **So yes I did go work on this instead, but I am trying.**

 **So then, hope if you have read this far you will give Yin-Yang a shot. And please do not review only to ask I update some other story.**

Yin-Yang

Arc 1

 _The Cop_

 _Chapter 1_

 **Officer Down**

* * *

Black and white tumbled. Spun. Swirled. Knotted and unknotted. Stripes as wide as the city and narrow as floss. But never mixing, no grey.

She swam through it, stumbling when she found something like solid footing. But she couldn't run. She'd trip. And the trip she was on was bad enough, she thought as black and white parted beneath her feet, dropping through a bi-chrome sky.

"BFGFIADF" a man said. He walked through the sky to her. Just more black and white. She wanted to spit at him, but she couldn't close her mouth. She tried to glare, but of course she had no eyes to do that with.

Wait, then how could she see?

The man who was lines on paper tapped her forehead and said something else that could never be words.

Except it was?

There was a color on him. Not the word. Green? Yes, green was a color, and then purple.

The Joker was in front of her, as if he had been painted there all along. A manic cartoon flashing yellow teeth as he shook his head, sending his strange green dreadlocks dancing like snakes hissing through the air.

Danger. Move.

Struggling brought pain. Tied? Yes? Bound to chair. Even her head couldn't move. Something stuffed her mouth, unyielding when she tried to close her jaws or lift her tongue.

"Paging Detective Yin? Helloooo? Anyone home?" the clown criminal asked, leaning in. His breath stank, she couldn't blink either.

Screen, yes he'd forced her to watch. Watch what? Why? So thirsty.

Laughter.

She cried out, muffled by the gag. Anger and pain as her furious struggle cut her. Across legs and arms, even her brow, her binds cut. Old pain too, she had done that before? Yes, she had. Hard, sharp plastic. Clown, he knew what he was doing.

She was back though, in a chair in a room. Even with him, she was not where, that, had been. Focus on him, not the black and white, she ordered herself.

"Aaand she is back, ladies and gentlemen. Or at least back enough for television," the clown laughed at his own wit.

"This is our what, third hostage situation, Detective? I confess, cops kind of blend together after awhile. Just like hostages. Care to set the record straight?" he asked, holding up a phantom mic to her. She shouted through the gag.

"You're absolutely right. Who has time for flashbacks? What is this, network TV with its shameful clip shows? Boo to that, I say. Boo!

"But today is your lucky day, Miss Detective Lin. So, for the sake of the late-comer viewers, allow me a moment to recap.

"Mon Chief of Police has delivered a terrible review on the performance of Gotham's Illegal Elite. Fresh off this great city being honored by the press as the Scariest City in America, magnificent title by the way, he declares none other than the Batman — 'the Batman' — public enemy number one!

"Oh, the business is tough, I tell ya, Yinny. You slave to perfect your art. Burn that midnight oil pushing your projects from good to great. You sacrifice family, friends- oh wait, didn't have those to start with, did I?

"BUT THE POINT! …is you put on such great shows, only to be slammed in the reviews. It happens. There is nothing to do, but go back out there and put mud in their eye by showing everyone why that accolade should have been yours.

"But that's not why this is happening to you, Detective. You see, I had two plans to win back my crowd of horrified onlookers. One involves you, the other… some other guy. How did I decide? Perhaps I was tempted by the sexist fact that people are more outraged by violence against women than men?

"Nope! I loved them both so much I just couldn't pick. Like a pair of adorable bloodstained toddlers. So…

"I flipped a coin," he said. He pulled a quarter out of his ear, and flipped it into the air.

"It's just a bit of stamped metal. But as far as your fate goes, this coin may as well be God," Joker said. Catching the coin, he held up his hand, and opened it to reveal, nothing.

"But enough exposition! On with the show!" the red eyed clown declared. He reached into his purple jacket and pulled out a glass beaker, a red liquid inside catching the light.

 **X X X**

The first drop burned. She tried to scream as it sizzled and ran on a trail down her face. Searing, bubbling, then cold, piecing icicles. And nothing.

The first drop.

Then he started to pour, engulfing her right ear and moving.

There was only bitting away at the gag and the sensation. Heat, cold, nothing, sweeping slow and steady.

Then her head snapped forward. Glass broke somewhere. Spots on her left, though, were burning, and vomit finally forced the gag out.

"Clean up in aisle three! And I was only half done.

"Oh, the zip melted, that would do it. Should have seen that coming. No worry, you still have enough hair to hold ya steady.

"Pity about the spillage. But no worries — as Grandpa Joker always said, when using the good stuff, always bring a spare," The Joker was saying.

The vision swam, the Joker was out of sight, only the screen was left. It felt like her skull was going to split. So thirsty.

"Aggg," she gurgled in fear as he stepped back into view with another beaker. There was a label on this one. But everything was spinning too much to even think about reading it.

She was on the ceiling. How did he get up here?

Wood broke somewhere, Joker talking, more breaking glass. All she could see was lines.

"Bats! Go!"

Who? Should know.

A shape, a man? He grabbed the sky and ripped it in two.

The head she hadn't realized was lifted fell forward in relief. It was gone. She should go too.

"Yin! Ellen! Oh God," he said, coming up to her. She looked up ad realized she knew him.

Ethan, so dramatic. He looked like he'd seen a ghost. Needed to toughen up to be a better cop, she thought, before at long last blackness swept away her thoughts into unconsciousness.

 **X X X**

Detective Ethan Bennett had plenty of experience feeling helpless. As a cop, you often came into situations where there was little if anything you could do. The tragic aftermaths, the victims and their kin with their lives upended desperate for something stable, or just shocked. And anger of course, the rage that could flare or smolder in people.

That last one was the most dangerous. And he was feeling it more and more in this world where criminals had become so much larger than life. He was feeling it right now as he sat waiting to learn the fate of his partner and friend.

He had failed. And he was smart enough to know it was partly himself he was angry at. But God help him, if he had that clown in front of him, he just might beat him to death and see if the Joker really would go out with a smile.

"Ethan?" a voice broke through the rage. Bennett blinked and let go of the plastic arms of the chair. Cracked, oh dang, he was not in a good way.

The waiting room at Gotham General was like any of its kind he had been to. Clean and holding an atmosphere of tenseness mixed with boredom as people awaited news of all kinds. He hated hospitals.

Taking a deep breath to finish collecting himself, and letting it out, he turned his face up to Bruce.

"Bruce, thanks for coming," he said. The detective got to his feet; standing was better than sitting when stressed, anyway.

"Of course. Have they said anything?" Bruce asked. Ethan started to pace in the ER Waiting Room, gathering his thoughts. Nice thing being that even through they weren't alone, everyone had their own worries.

"They say she won't die. They may even save her eye. They don't know what exactly Joker used, but… But it's bad, Bruce. The Joker got what he wanted. He disfigured her, all because he felt gipped by the Chief!" Ethan snapped.

"CSI put back together that beaker of the stuff he threw at Bats, you know. It was labeled, 'Uncle J's Special Sauce'. Beginning to end it's all just a joke, and he's laughing it up in Arkham, right now," Ethan said, through gritted teeth.

Bruce put a hand on his shoulder.

"She'll live," Bruce reminded him, "She can get help for damaged skin, and she's tough Ethan. I wouldn't bet against her."

"…The Joker didn't just melt half her face off. He had something set up, some kind of mental torture with her eyes held open.

"…it was only a matter of time until that clown got the best of us and Bats both, wasn't it? He got his bow and everything."

"And now he's back in Arkham," Bruce reminded him.

 **X X X**

"Your fate was determined by the merciless turn of chance."

It was so hot, stifling, she couldn't breathe. Heat seemed to cling to her skin, suffocating her, roasting her insides. The image of some covered pan with meat roasting inside in its own juices popped forth and danced around before fading.

She twisted and turned, struggling to shake away to freedom, relief, that would never come.

"This coin here was the great impartial judge of your future."

She gasped, twisting and pulling, weighed down, pinned, smothered. Weighed down and tangled in an invisible force that dragged her beneath the dark. It wanted to take even beyond the dark, she knew somehow. But still, she fought, to do otherwise was death, and she was not ready to die.

"As far as you're concerned, Detective…"

Her grip found purchase, and she held on for dear life.

"…You may as well call it God."

With a cry, she shot forward, yanking the weight above her off with a roar and a cry, stumbling and falling and striking the cold floor, the sound of crashing, and noise and a stinging in her arm. And yet she still felt smothered, trapped in the dark and unable to breathe.

She had escaped, but her jailer was still holding on. Trying to drag her back!

But in that panic, somehow, someway, the detective came through.

Smell of antiseptic, cold linoleum floor, machines beeping… hospital room.

Suffocation, pain in arm, crashing noise, suffocation; tangled in blankets, yanked out IV, fell out of bed, knocked over machine… gauze.

Pain, sore… dark; she reached up and slowly felt around her head, her right eye slowly and achingly pulling open, sealed by crust and dried sweat, light blinding it, searing and white from the fluorescents above.

But she couldn't open her left… or rather, couldn't shut it? It saw only dark; she couldn't feel her eyelid. Couldn't feel if it was open or shut, her face was numb, she realized. Unnaturally so; pinpricks of numbness surrounded it and make her face feel stupid and slack. But still confined?

The doctors had given her some powerful anesthetics. Didn't want her to feel her face. Reaching up hurried and apprehensive where she lay crouched on the cold floor in nothing but a cheap paper gown, she felt her head bound. Wrapped in thick dressing, mummified, she could hardly discern the shape of her head in this state.

Her neck was wrapped tight, too. Her fingers twitched across it, a noose rising in her light-blinded vision. She shook her head and the image vanished. But it still left her blind and bound.

Well, that wouldn't do, nobody told them they could bury her face. Nobody gave them the RIGHT.

She heard a door open, probably doctors. Nurses. More people who wanted to wrap her up and bury her in the dark again. Well, not if she had anything to say about it. She grabbed the dressing and yanked, pulling and tearing it free, knocking aside the hands of some punk attempting to stop her, biting another in a rage, too focused to articulate words.

They drew back, she could see them now as shadows and lumps in the world. They had expected surrender and she had given them force, now they were back on their heels. And she tore away at her bindings, relishing how it felt.

Soon she found it deep down, her face, there it was! She pulled until no trace of gauze was left and in triumph stood and turned her attention towards the room's mirror.

Crouching on the floor, she could not see the mirror. She got to her feet unsteady; her body felt strange. Sensation was distant, so much numb. Even with her body free to breathe, the gown torn away with everything else, a sense of wrongness clung to her.

Someone moved to steady her. Her backhand did not connect but drove the thickset woman away. Yes, she could see now. Hear too, but the noises were just noise.

What did she care? She didn't need to be told. She knew what she wanted, this woman with wide dark eyes, she had nothing to say, so just go away!

Realizing she was indeed standing, which meant the mirror could be seen, she turned on the cold floor to look into it.

Confusion greeted. A step back. Mirrored.

She was no fool, her mind seized in this evidence and in less than a moment gave her the answer.

She let them grab her as her legs gave out.

XXX

"Ethan, 'Ayne. If gu tell me it doesn't look so bad, so gelp me I will get out of this fed…" Ellen Yin said to the two men standing in her hospital room. She scowled, but it was more at her words still slipping than anything else.

"Hey now, I didn't say anything!" the playboy said, holding his hands up defensively. She rolled her good eye; true, but it was necessary to warn him. How Ethan could be so fond of this rich fool, she would never know.

Though she supposed, as she often did, it was hardly his fault being born with so much wealth you never 'had' to do anything. That alone would mess up most people, she thought. And on top of that, no parents to tell him "no". Instead, from what she gathered his butler, a paid servant, had raised him.

But enough abut the back-up, Ethan was talking.

"The force put together a card. There was talk of a bouquet…"

"I don't need pity or flowers. No one told me what happened to Joker, Ethan."

"Really? Huh. Well, Bats bagged him good, he's back in his cell."

She nodded. It was good news. Yes, yes it was.

"So, have they talked options?" Wayne asked.

The answer was yes and no. It seemed there were oddities from her burns, abnormalities. Long story short, they wanted to watch and test before considering what could be done to fix her face. Along with a good bit of her neck, and some splotches on her back and chest.

What she said was, "Not much," and left it at that.

"Well, whatever it is, I just want you to know I'm here for you. Money is no problem-"

"I 'ave insurance," she cut him off abruptly. It always came back to money for the boy wonder, didn't it? She had never thought, even if Langstrom had turned out to be the Bat, Wayne would get any real grief over it. Even an employee turning into Man Bat under his nose had not so much as gotten a speck on his imported shoes.

No, she was not just going to idly let him save the day with his bucks to burn and pat himself on the back, she decided.

"He's just trying to help," Ethan pointed out. He looked concerned. Oh crap, was she showing too much in her face? Hard to tell, the meds numbed her up so much now. Glancing to the side to the mirror, she saw what he had been seeing. Her head all wrapped up along with her neck, one eye peeking out.

It couldn't be as bad as she had thought. She just wished she could get it off to get a real idea of what she was dealing with.

"What I really want to know is a firm date of when I can get out and back on the beat," she said, changing the subject.

"Wow, Ethan says you're an iron woman, but you really don't mess around," Wayne commented with something like a chuckle.

"It's called drive," she answered. She left the "you could use some" unsaid.

"Yin, you're going into medical leave when you get out. The Department sent the forms over with me," Ethan said sternly, handing her the file he had been holding. She had thought it was some casework he was on and wanted her input. Naive her, she supposed.

"I don't need to look pretty to do my job," she said, even as she accepted the papers.

"Don't be like that. Not only were you abducted again, you were hospitalized with serious injuries from the abduction. You're not wiggling out of this," Ethan chided.

"How long?" she asked, opening the file.

"Depends on the docs I suppose," Ethan guessed.

"Mandatory psychologist sessions? Dr. what?" She sighed, reading. Wayne leaned in to see what she had read.

"He's one of Arkham's most celebrated residents, a big figure in the field of trauma related studies. Uh, the scientific name for it has slipped my mind," Wayne admitted. Probably he read a magazine when bored, Yin thought.

Well, this was irritating, but she supposed she not be surprised. It was all part of getting back on her feet. The clown was not going to put her down.

X X X

"Deep thoughts, Master Wayne?" Alfred asked as he drove them away from the hospital. Bruce had been looking out at the city. He had become accustomed to so many things, the persisting strangeness stood out most now. Even mundane things like how Gotham was truly a different city by daylight and moonlight.

"Just contemplating Light and Darkness, nothing really deep."

"Ah, yes. Just light food for thought, like the meaning of life or if there really is a secret ingredient to the Colonel's chicken.

"Am I to assume things have not gone as you hoped with Detective Yin's condition, sir?" the butler asked.

"It seems the force has not written her career off yet. Not sure if that is good or bad," Bruce admitted.

"Well, I for one am inclined to have faith in people, sir. If her spirit remains unbroken… well, this city needs police officers that are both capable and honest."

"She has been through a lot."

"Oh most certainly. Losing half your face is nothing to sneeze at. But it's not like it has driven her to dressing up like an animal and running around on her own time beating up criminals. That would be a troubling development."

…

"Sir?"

"I failed her, Alfred," he finally admitted. He knew what Alfred would say.

"Yes, you could say that," Alfred admitted. Bruce looked away from the city passing by. The butler did not glance back; as ever, his eyes were locked on the road ahead.

"Batman is still a man, Master Bruce. Symbol of hope you may be, I can accept that. But still, under the costume you are a man. And as the service taught me, sometimes even the best of men with the best of plans cannot succeed.

"You failed to stop her from being scarred and whatever torture the Joker inflicted. But he would surely have killed her if not for you. She is alive, that is your success. As are all the times you have been able to snatch hope from despair despite everyone thinking it impossible."

"I couldn't help her as Bruce Wayne either," Bruce pointed out.

"Nonsense, you showed up. How many besides young Ethan did that? You, of all people, should understand how important it can be for people to come just to show that, however dark it has become, your world hasn't ended yet."

"I need to do something."

"Batman is quite good for stopping the bad guys, Master Bruce, but this is a different battle ahead of Detective Yin. Perhaps Batman should step aside and leave this to those trained to fight such a battle?"

 **X X X**

"Good afternoon, Detective Yin, I am Dr. Hugo Strange."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 _Yeah I messed with the episode order a bit. And no that wasn't the putty he used._

 _This is not a short story, but it is not meant for epic length. I plan three arcs, with only two 'epic showdowns' total and a lot of time in Yin's head. The two limit is important because i am not good at those, and many of fics have at least one big fight a chapter it seems. I hope this will be fun to write and read. With any lick if it takes long to finish it will only be because i am preoccupied with wrapping up some PDJ work._

 _Long days and pleasant nights to you all._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own 'The Batman'._

 _Betaed by:_ Zim'smostloyalservant and Trackula

* * *

 **Yin Yang**

Arc 1

The Cop

Chapter 2

Strange Beginnings

She had only encountered him briefly, but it rushed back now. He was a bizarre looking man. His hands stood out unusually large as he tapped his fingers together as he looked down at her. His face was long and jowled, fitting with his overweight shape, but it was a poker face. His late-stage male pattern baldness was the most normal thing about him, and how long his hair was made that odd, too.

Hugo Strange. Surely an immigrant name, changed from something else by his parents or grandparents. But what, she wondered?

"Hello," she greeted, offering a hand. He took it, and sure enough, those giant hands were real. Not nearly as calloused as many a cop's hands she had felt, but not weak either.

"I thought I wasn't scheduled for a session yet."

"You are correct, Detective Yin. But I thought you might appreciate a face-to-face sealing of details.

"I believe that, barring a session before your release, we should hold the sessions at Arkham," he told her.

"Arkham Asylum?" she asked flatly.

"Now now, despite the reputation it has gained as a place for holding dangerous patients, it is a place of medical treatment first and foremost. I can confidently say that I believe I can best do my duty in your case from the offices there. Surely a police officer can appreciate the difference between public perception of an institution and the reality?" he said. That voice, so precise.

"But I think it would be better for the first session prior to your release to your home to be held here at the hospital," Strange concluded.

"But of course, as the patient you have the right to take a role in your treatment, is this acceptable?" he asked.

She frowned. There was a nurse watching from the door. It felt like the padding was hugging her face, but maybe still better than that uncontrolled face on display.

She wanted to get back in the saddle quickly. If that meant staring down Arkham's gates every once in a a while, fine.

 **XXX**

Ellen's face looked bad. There was no other way to put it and not lie.

Not a perfect split, but just looking it was close enough as to make little difference. The skin had healed enough for them to let it breathe freely now. Saying it was better, however, would sound like a joke.

It was an angry red, verging on purple in some places as her head tilted. Tight, leathery looking. Painful to look at.

Her cheek was withered, her lips on the bad side gone, revealing both rows of teeth on that side yellow and veined black, emerging from reddish purple gums.

The bad eye had swollen, glassy and useless, lidless. Surely the size was more optical illusion from it being naked?

Her scalp was not spared, her usual long thick black hair scalded away, the scalp scarred and wrinkled, only a few stray strands of black catching his eye.

She was examining it in the hand mirror she had been holding when he was admitted. He stood behind her as she sat up on the bed. Using the mirror to look himself.

Ethan was more than a little ashamed of staring, but it was so hard not to. Even the clean side only made the scars stand out worse.

Running her index finger along her exposed molars, she frowned, glancing back at him.

"Banutt," she remarked.

"Oh, caught in the cookie jar?" he tried to laugh it off.

"Euw are no worse then the nuse. Just don't dare say… it does not look so bad," she paused, trying hard to get the words right.

Before he could think of anything to say to that, she went on.

"At least you din't bring 'Ayne. He ud, would, say that," she managed.

"Bruce means well," Ethan defended his friend passively. Ellen frowned and he decided to just take her retort on his friend. Then she sighed, and didn't take another shot at all.

'Okay, that can't be good,' Ethan thought.

"Have the brass given you a new partner?" It was easy enough to tell what she was saying, he decided.

"What? They know I have a partner."

"They're going to try and bench me for this. The Chief saying something about sympathizing as they push me into a desk job in records or something."

"Well, taking it easy for while maybe-"

"I'm a cop. Not a desk jockey with a badge and uniform. They can say what they want, but I will not be put down, Ethan. I'll prove to them that that clown didn't break me.

"So don't do anything stupid because of me. I don't need you or anyone to be a knight in shining armor."

"…"

"Please don't tell me you're beating yourself up over this? Ir wasn't your fault."

"I know, people tell me. But-"

"If its anyone's fault, it's Batman's."

"…"

"You don't agree."

"I think the Joker is guilty enough."

"Well, that we agree on," She said. Ethan left soon after, hardly reassured.

 _The Next Day, GCPD:_

"Detective Cash Tankinson, ready to hit those streets and take whatever they hit back with," the man said. Ethan raised an eyebrow at the other cop. Shades, close-cut blonde hair, and a jacket based outfit that seemed almost out of a movie.

He glanced to the Chief, sitting behind his desk and looking as grumpy as usual.

"Well, pleased to meet you. GCPD can always use another cop," he said, shaking hands with the man.

"Oh, I think you'll find Cash Tankinson is not just another cop," the man in shades said.

Wondering why he was here, Ethan looked back to the Chief.

"So you want me to show Detective Tankinson around or something, Chief?"

"Yes, as his new partner, that is your responsibility," the Chief said.

Ethan paused, taking a moment to wonder if he had heard right.

"I already have a partner," he reminded the Chief. The Chief put a hand on the top of his desk and started to drum his fingers on it, mustache twitching slightly. But it was Cash who spoke first.

"Ah yeah. Ellen Yin. Tragic what happened. Hear she was a grade A cop until Joker melted half her face off.

"Tragic. But bird with a broken wing can't fly. So now you get the bull — Cash Tankinson won't go down to no clown easy, I can tell you that!" the detective declared. Declared, yeah that was the word. Ethan was more puzzled someone talked like this than he was angry at him.

"Chief, can we talk in private?" Ethan asked.

"Hey we're partners. What you say to him, you can say in front of me," Tankinson objected.

"Detective Tankinson, get some coffee," the Chief said.

"No need, sir! Cash Tankinson punches fully fueled and ready to go," he answered crisply. The Chief glared at him. Shades didn't conceal his smug expression slipping.

"Yes sir, I'll get a cup for Detective Bennett," he said.

"Don't hurry back, make a fresh pot," the Chief instructed. The strange man closed the door behind him, leaving the Chief and the detective alone in the office.

"Well, Bennett, say what you need to say," the Chief ordered.

"Ellen Yin is probably the best cop in this department. And you want to send her to a desk?" Ethan demanded calmly.

"Want to? No.

"You think I'm quite the ogre, don't you Bennett? Too harsh on my personnel, too strict on your beloved Batman. Just too everything, right?

"Well, you might have a point, thinking I'm not on the streets knowing what it's like these days. But you out there only see a part of the big picture I work with here and across the city.

"I don't want to put the best cop in my department out to pasture. She's the best, and she has the right attitude about Batman. But that doesn't change the fact that taking her off the street is the right choice. The media has been tough enough to keep from stirring up this story into a sensation as is."

Ethan had something to say to that, but the Chief plowed forward, glaring at him.

"A woman getting mutilated is bad enough. If she were a man, then right or wrong, people wouldn't get so upset. But a woman whose 'beautiful before' picture they can wave around? I've pulled plenty of strings just to keep her from becoming big news.

"And that all goes down the drain if she is walking a beat with half a face. People will demand to know why we couldn't protect our own. Why we thrust her back out into danger like some old time General sending shell-shocked troops back into the trenches. We won't be seen as as having 'faith' in her. We'll be seen as callous to our officers, or desperate enough that we would do something like this.

"That moron I sent for coffee? He is literally the best transfer we've had in too long. Gotham has become a place where cop careers go to die. Because cops here are seen by too many as jokes, who get shown up by flashy vigilantes, and get led around by the nose by freaks in costumes.

"How much worse will that be if Ellen Yin, a pinnacle of a cop, getting chewed up and spat out becomes major news?"

"Chief-"

"I'm not done.

"You know how these creeps started coming out of the woodwork after the Batman? Well, what I worry about most isn't new freaks. I worry about Batman copycats. After all, if the people decide the police are useless, why not just pull on a costume rather than dial 911?

"But these won't be highly trained, tech-armed vigilantes like the Batman. These will be civilians with some delusion or other going out and getting chewed up and spat out. Or they have some bite, but lack that restraint Batman has that you harp about. Just imagine, some masked vigilante with a crowbar beating a mugger's skull in. Or carving some 'justice' slogan into a drug dealer with a stiletto.

"We are this close to losing the people, and with them the city sliding into a full on war zone. So I will bench Ellen Yin if it helps keep this city safe from the madness Batman and Arkham's Rogues have infected it with."

The big man took a deep breath, and Bennett decided it was now or never to speak.

"Those are a lot of assumptions, Chief. You got some experts signing off on this fortune telling?"

"Yes, actually. And being in charge means considering the worst and trying to make it ridiculous-sounding looking back, by making sure it never came to that."

"Yin, if anyone could-"

"Doesn't matter. This is about image and public reaction, not the truth. Fair doesn't enter into it, so don't try and cite it.

"And before you think about slamming your badge on this desk in some dramatic protest, admit that my fears are not beyond the possible. And ask yourself, are you willing to take Ethan Bennett off a force that has already lost Ellen Yin? Or are you going to be the kind of cop this city needs? Which means accepting a hard truth and getting out there and doing your best to make sure Cash Tankinson and the others like him we'll be getting, will be able to keep up with the scariest city in America?"

"…This will break her heart, you know that?" Ethan asked. The Chief nodded, reclining slightly. He was relaxing, he knew he had won.

"GCPD looks after its own. She'll have a good job, a well paying one, a desk job," the Chief said.

"Now, you have a partner to break in. Believe it or not, he has quite a good record. See to it Gotham doesn't end up breaking it," the Chief dismissed him. Ethan nodded and turned to go. But stepping into the bustle of the department, Detective Shades was the last thing on his mind.

 **XXX**

Ellen hesitated before the door, feeling the nurse behind her hovering, watching.

Just like a review board, too late to get it of it, just get in there, keep your head on straight, and get it over with, she told herself.

"Hello again, Detective Yin. I am pleased at your speedy recovery in flesh allows us to begin," Professor Strange said. She resisted the urge to touch the padding covering much of her neck and head. She wondered if this cycle of exposure and concealment really worked, or they were guessing. But that was not her current problem.

He had commandeered this room for a session, she had understood. He did not sit behind the desk like a guest, he was at ease sitting there with a fourth floor view of the city behind him.

"Uh, sure. So do I sit there?" she asked, gesturing to an overstuffed-looking chair across from the desk.

"Sit where you like, or stand. One moment please, while I set up to record our session," Strange said. She considered standing, but the chair just seemed the proper place, so she sat down in it, back straight. To her surprise, he was setting up an actual tape recorder, complete with a microphone he was setting up on the desktop.

Since he was involved with that mind-walking tech, she had assumed he was tech savvy. If he noticed her surprise, he ignored it, and seemed to finish with the outdated tech.

"Session one, Yin, Ellen; Professor Hugo Strange psychiatrist, recording for accuracy and medical posterity.

"Detective Yin, how are you?" he asked, tapping his huge index fingers together.

"What do you mean?" Ellen asked. Whether her pain meds were working, or if she was anything but unhappy to be here with him?

"It is a simple question, Detective," he said. His voice, gravelly and slow. Not too slow, but every word said perfectly, pronounced precisely. She felt stiff, looking at his mask of a face.

He scribbled something on a notepad. She hadn't even said anything, she thought, frowning.

"Detective Yin, how would you describe yourself?" he asked.

"I'm a cop," she said.

"Yes, like your father I understand," he commented. Seriously, he was bringing up her parents? Wasn't this supposed to be about Joker?

"You were born in Gotham, and your father was a sergeant for the Gotham Police department. Was it before or after his death that you decided to follow in his vocation?" Strange asked.

"Before," she answered shortly.

"And after your mother's death, when you were seventeen was it, you were moved to Metropolis, to a cousin of your mother's custody."

"I got emancipated shortly, it wasn't a good fit," Ellen supplied, before he could recite that irrelevant fact.

"So it would seem. You pursued a law enforcement education and entered law enforcement in Metropolis. An impressive career, where you were slated to succeed your superior eventually as head of department. Yet you turned this down in favor of a transfer to Gotham, retaining a detective position. Why?"

"I wanted a challenge. Gotham was a city that needed good cops more than Metropolis did," she answered with rehearsed ease.

"So a single policewoman could tip the scales? Is that your assertion?"

"Police work is a group effort, Professor Strange."

"Hmm, yet you have a rather lackluster record for teamwork, I understand. With the exception of Detective Bennett, you are noted to go through partners at an unusual rate. Despite glowing reviews from superiors for your competence and procedural commitment, it seems with your peers you have a history of struggling."

"I… had some rough patches, but I have gotten better."

"Have you received any visitors other than Detective Bennett? Repeat ones."

"Only Bruce Wayne."

"And is he a friend?"

"He's Ethan's friend. I'd pay you to figure out how that works," she joked.

"Earlier you described yourself in a word as a policewoman. The profession you have pursued since at least the age of twelve. Could you describe yourself outside that role? Who is Ellen Yin, beyond Detective Yin?" he asked.

'A pretty woman,' almost slipped out. She wasn't vain, but she saw it in the mirror, and plenty of punks and cops who thought her hearing wasn't so good commented. Thinking fast, she gave him something empty but good sounding. Fortunately, he swallowed it, scribbling it down.

By the time he dismissed her, she was relived. She wasn't normally one to want to drop in bed unless she had earned her paycheck, but this was exhausting.

"So, how did I do?" she asked, turning her head as she reached the door. She frowned, as she had to turn further with that eye out of commission.

"It has been most informative. I will see you again, at Arkham," he told her. Nodding, she turned and left, back into the hall and the bustle of the hospital.

Well, that had not been pleasant, but then, could any time with a shrink be?

But at least it was over.

 **XXX**

Arkham was a fascinating structure. Once a mansion of its founder and namesake's family, it had been extended and remodeled extensively during Dr. Arkham's own life. Some of the later additions had gone beyond pragmatic, seeking to create an environment that so-called experts of the day believed would be conducive to healing.

Alas, Amadeus, like so many of his peers, had been hobbled by sheer ignorance. Though he admired Dr. Arkham's dedication to the study, the man could not have helped with the poor tools his era had provided. But Arkham Asylum had endured and grown.

And now that same vision of seeking understanding at all costs could live on in the hands of Hugo Strange.

He had taken the original Arkham office, despite its secluded state in the current layout. Its set up suited him, its isolation yet ready access to so many important areas granted him space and control both.

And now, amidst his books and tapes, he used tried and true tape recording to dictate his thoughts for personal posterity.

"The super criminal, the villain, costumed maniac, and locally termed, the Rogue.

"Rogue perhaps is the best term, born from the very corridors of Arkham Asylum. A human who has not only rebelled against law and society's mainstream, but has rejected any moral or mental normalcy to act out on as grand a scale as they please.

"They have become a neglected field of study. Despite a steady rise in numbers and prominence in the collective worldview of society, they are dismissed, or simply casually labeled by so-called experts whose efforts are juvenile politics.

"Even my own efforts have afforded me only glimpses into this unique new culture of madness. As head of psychiatry at Arkham, my resources for study are second to none, but I fear I am reaching a wall.

"For the so-called Gallery of Rogues houses only finished products. Much can be learned, such as their diverse origins. But what binds them together? Theories without sufficient support are unworthy of documentation, nothing but cluttering data.

"But the patient, Ellen Yin, could present an opportunity.

"A chance to witness and document a person make the transition from a functioning member of society into a Rogue. A priceless chance that, however narrow, cannot be ignored, that could provide pieces to the puzzle that will unlock still more answers within existing subjects.

"And so I shall endeavor to ensure she will travel down this road, to whatever end."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Well here we are again. Kind of hoped it would be over on Queen, but well better success here than nowhere. Work continues on Queen of All Oni, good progress but irregular, lurches and lulls. In other PDJ news Ages of Shadow has actually gotten more of the next chapter written, so at least the PDJ groove seems to coming back in me.**

 **As for this, a short chapter; I think this will be a story with short chapters for awhile. Next chapter I will be filling in some backstory for the good detective as Strange continues his study of her.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer** : _I do not own "The Batman"._

 _Betaed by: Zim'smostloyalservant and Trackula_

* * *

 **Yin Yang**

 **Arc 1**

The Cop

Chapter 3

Isolation

Ellen Yin sat in the Chief's office, half her face covered by the medical mask the hospital had provided and the other half still numb from the meds. She could feel the chair as she shifted in her seat. She was wearing her usual work outfit; Ethan had brought her a change of clothes.

She had wanted this meeting as soon as possible. It wouldn't go well either way, so she might as well get it over with. Had it always been this cold in the office?

"Four months seem excessive Chief," she said. She really hoped her words were coming out clear. If they weren't, the mustached officer didn't react to it.

No, the Chief looked displeased, as he always did. She had even seen him eating his lunch as if it were the bearer of bad news. Given his girth, it didn't seem to deter him. And when he spoke, it seemed like business as usual. Cranky, but focused.

"I wouldn't know; it was a timetable suggested by people paid in no small part to make such calls. And I don't see any reason to second guess the matter," Chief Rojas said. Yin frowned, or tried to, blasted meds made it hard to tell what her face was doing.

He was turning away in his chair, about to say the matter was closed! She cut him off, a calculated risk.

"I need some time. But not this much. Give me a chance and I can show you I can still handle the streets," she said. It was not pleading; he had never responded well to that. She was making a case here. She wasn't asking for pity, or even much faith. Just a fair chance.

He turned back to face her, his stern expression giving his answer before he said anything.

"Four months. If you have a problem with it, take it up with the white coats. Rest up, heal, and do whatever, Detective. But you won't be doing it here. You're dismissed," the Chief said, waving her off. Now he turned away, looking out his window.

She let herself out and was glad Ethan had not been able to stick around. If anyone else tried to strike up conversation as she left, she didn't notice. It all just kind of faded out as she made her way through the familiar and now unwelcoming ways of the station.

It felt like the building itself was regarding her as out of place.

It was only when she got into the cab, that Ellen realized her hands had curled into fists so hard there were a few cuts in her palms from where her nails had pierced them. The hidden half of her face reflected in the window, Yin looked down in surprise and some concern at her hands.

 **XXX**

Be it ever so humble, no place like home, Yin mused as she locked the door behind her. It didn't echo or anything dramatic, wood and carpet. But still, it didn't exactly feel welcoming.

It was dusty, of course, no one had thought to clean it, and besides the landlord no one else had a key anyway.

The blinds were drawn, so despite it being early afternoon it was dark. She opted to flip on the lights rather than open the windows. Walking around the rooms, taking stock, she found herself feeling odd. Shouldn't she be feeling relief or something? She was finally fully out of the hospital. This, being here, was a return to normalcy of a sort.

But four months medical leave. It was better than being sent straight to the desk, a chance to recover and improve, to show she can come back from this. Yes, despite being replaced by some testosterone chugging out-of-towner, the GCPD was still giving her a shot.

Reaching the last room, the bathroom, she found her inspection at an end.

"Now what?" she asked. Her reflection blinked back at her, half its face hidden by the itching mask.

They had said to take it off before bed tonight and apply the lotion anyway. She removed it with ease. Letting the whole thing plop into the sink while untying her neck. Then stripping off her shirt, she peeled away the patches on her back, and then chest.

It wasn't as bad as that nightmare. But it was so bad.

She frowned, recalling the whispers of losing half her face. Her neck was also ravaged, streaks of puckered but unmelted flesh stood out on it. And on the portions of bare skin on her chest she could see. With a frown, she pulled her bra off, tearing off the patch on her breast. The spots where drips had eaten through clothing to get to her.

Those whispers… they did not get it, did they? Ethan and the Chief either.

Only half her face left? Faces didn't work like that. What she saw in the mirror, in all honesty didn't send her to her knees in some shock, because it didn't seem at all like her face. Not even the clean half.

 **XXX**

She ordered Chinese takeout for dinner. The evening news featured the Batman. So it was a movie before she got to the egg-roll.

Leaving the movie to play, she pushed aside dinner and went through her bag. The medication, a few loose effects from the GCPD, and the notebook. Strange had sent it to her, suggesting a journal. She smiled at that, even though it didn't last as, despite the numbness, she could feel half her mouth, mangled and twitching, trying to obey.

Looking down at the table, she grabbed a napkin to wipe up the mush dribbles. She had been careless in chewing again. Still, mess cleaned up, the notebook was waiting. It was standard issue; the kind you see in mega stores or pharmacy stores' little stationary sections. That mottled black and white cover with a sticker informing you of the dimensions and page number.

Ellen Yin had never been one of those girls who poured their heart out to dear diary. She wasn't going to start now.

Still, it was handy.

Tomorrow would come soon enough, and with it a non-work day. She wasn't going to repeat time wasted at the hospital. Soon, the first page outlined a schedule for the day. Cleaning of course, groceries, and some training — she had practically felt her muscles atrophying forced into such inactivity.

And so on.

Putting a period on the last item at a whim, she closed the book.

 **XXX**

It was handy that the grocer had a delivery policy. It had been raining hard, and she was not looking to get wet. A cold on top of everything else she did not need. Once the delivery woman was gone, she gathered the bags from her doorstep and closed it behind her with her foot. The Italian delivery boy for Chinese last night had been… instructive. Must have jumped nearly a foot in the air.

Ethan called, polite as always. Asked if she wanted him to swing by. Cash was in the car; she could hear him monologuing about something. They were busy in moments, and she told him there were people who actually needed a hand.

She just hoped without her around he wouldn't start getting ideas about the Batman. He was too good a cop; it would be a waste to throw his career away by aiding a vigilante.

The fact she could do nothing about it right now made her hit harder in the workout.

 **XXX**

Training had become the daily highlight. Keeping a clear head in an intense situation was key. But the training to build up to that… you could lose yourself in the action, the repetition, the exertion.

She had moved the couch aside so she could watch the news while working out. The lights were all on, sending the shadows to cower in their respective places. Her movie collection, such as it was, she had burned through. What was worth repeating she had practically memorized. And frankly, she wondered why she had bought some of these.

And as usual, there was nothing good on TV.

Books… she did not like to sit still. And reading on the treadmill was no good. So they continued their vigil of stillness on shelves and the superfluous lower shelf of a coffee table.

Ethan called, but as ever, Gotham was demanding of attention, and Ethan was too solid an officer to take time off if he didn't need too. A cop's life was never still, even moreso a good cop.

 **XXX**

Another successful workout. Strange had suggested that if she insisted on seeing workouts as challenges, any completion should be regarded as a victory, while she was of the mind that success should be the expectation, not a surprise to be celebrated. She was seeing the appeal, given her limits at the moment.

Putting down the weights and doing some cool down stretches, Yin hoped Ethan wasn't bringing Tankinson. Apparently he had decided enough was enough and was swinging by after his shift to look in on her.

Well, fair enough, she supposed. He had called yesterday, setting the time.

Her doorbell rang. She didn't have any deliveries today.

Walking into the kitchen, frowning, she looked to the clock.

Oh. Oh crap.

It was a race to pull on some sweats and a shirt. She wasn't going to answer in her workout shorts and sports bra.

"Yin," Ethan said, when she opened the door. Same old Ethan, and then he paused for a moment.

Right, her face. Of course. Stepping back to show the good side, she gestured him in.

"Well, come on in," she said. He complied and yes, Mr. Shades was behind him.

"Uh… Detective Yin," Cash Tankinson said. His shades concealed his eyes, but his expression and stance said plenty. It was his first time seeing her without the bandages.

"Detective," she said, before closing the door. Waiting a moment, he didn't knock.

"I didn't say you could bring him," she told Ethan, lowering her voice.

"Hey, it can be like talking to a rock with that guy. No words are going to move it if it doesn't want to," Ethan answered.

"Hmm, how's he working out?" Yin asked.

"Well, he hasn't run off screaming into the night. So okay, Gotham Okay," Ethan said. He cracked a grin at the off joke; she gave a small chuckle as well. Take your pride in your town even if it's rough.

"But how are you doing?" he asked.

"Oh, I have full days. Crying in the corner and wallowing in self-pity, then a good solid hour of staring into the abyss. You know the drill," she said, taking a seat at the table.

Ethan frowned.

"Ellen, I'm serious," he said.

"And I am doing fine, more bored than anything. It's clear the Joker doesn't care about finishing what he started, so it's just running down the clock," she said.

"Uh huh, and those sessions?" he pressed. Tankinson was trying to occupy himself inspecting a bowl of fruit on the counter, as if he wasn't listening.

"Next one's tomorrow. Now you've seen I haven't fallen to pieces, so stop leaving Tankinson unattended," Ellen said.

"Ellen, if you ever want to talk…" Ethan said.

"I've got a feeling I'll be doing my fill of talking with Strange. Now get home and rest so you can get back to work," she ordered.

 _Arkham Asylum:_

Yin thought coming to Arkham for sessions would be different. But no, Strange was just as uncomfortable a presence here as the hospital. The commute, that had been worse.

"Why did you come to Gotham?" Strange asked. Yin frowned at the question. Was he never going to talk about what actually happened?

"It needed good cops. Still does," Yin said.

"And Metropolis doesn't? You had a distinguished career there; being slated for department head at such a young age is quite an achievement. In fact, unprecedented for a female officer in that particular city, I believe," Strange commented.

"I don't wear a badge to climb ladders," she answered. Strange tapped his fingers together, considering this before speaking.

"So what you could do as a detective in Gotham was more than you could do as a department head in Metropolis?"

"I'm a street cop. I serve better on streets that need cops," she repeated.

"But that was not your request, Detective. You did not ask to be assigned a troubled city, you asked for Gotham, why?" he pressed.

"I suppose it seemed to need me more," she said, getting irritated. How long was he going to beat this dead horse?

"Yet the Rogues had not truly emerged by then. The Batman had established himself as a vigilante, but Gotham's crime had yet to reach the infamy that has earned it so many unflattering titles. Was it because you were born here?"

"…Maybe. Hometown always hold a certain attachment," she admitted.

"Your father served in the GCPD, and died when you were twelve years old."

"He wasn't killed by a criminal," Yin said. She looked down at Strange, who did not change his expression.

"Correct. Like your mother five years later, it was ruled happenstance. Or I believe 'an act of God'?"

"Just stupid accidents. So if you're implying some revenge nonsense brought me back here, you're following the wrong trail."

"I imply nothing. I merely inquire and analyze data. I would be correct in saying you entered law enforcement in part due to your father's influence?"

"Hardly weird for a kid to follow in their parent's footsteps."

"Yet it seems after your mother's death you pursued it to the exclusion of all else."

Taking a seat again, she resigned herself to more pointless probing.

 **XXX**

Once again Strange sat alone at his desk. Speaking his thoughts for himself and others to consider.

"Trauma, loss, frustration, an inability to either cope or truly move on. A common thread, it would seem. Yet not all. The Joker's past is an enigma. He seems to exist as proudly without a past before the chemical burns. Ah, but as a pause in music is audible in absence, the sheer repression and effort of divorce speaks of the tremendous power his past holds over him.

"The case of Ellen Yin seems to revolve around chance," Strange continued after a pause.

"Her father died as the result of an accidental discharge. A rookie policeman on the firing range had their firearm jam. When Officer Yin came to their assistance the rookie, apparently embarrassed, refused help and began working the gun in a way Officer Yin found worrisome. An attempt was made to seize the gun, which was jerked back, resisting the seizure. An accidental discharge resulting in almost immediate death. So final, and so very avoidable.

"As for the mother, vehicular death nearly five years later. A malfunctioning traffic light. The mother's car struck by a semi-truck. Declared dead on site, the truck driver exonerated due to the circumstances.

"Vengeance is a recurring theme in society. The need to gain satisfaction by 'paying back' those who have wronged you. A concept extended to many facets of society and social interaction, but what catches interest is blood. An eye for an eye, one of the oldest laws put to writing. But what law is there for happenstance? For unconnected misfortune?

"One could equally blame Officer Yin for involving himself or the rookie for his obstinate behavior. Or municipal maintenance for not fulfilling their basic function. But there is no deliberate malevolence or callousness to rage against. Does that mean there is no rage? I think not. Rage deterred is not rage resolved. It is biding, awaiting a target, an unsuspecting pedestrian wandering too close to the bars of the cage. Or perhaps it is chance taken to another angle? Chaos. And if one resents chaos, one would logically side with order. Such as law and order?

"It is clear upon study she has seemingly devoted herself to her occupation to the detriment of all else. Could this be it? The key to unlocking a Rogue?" Strange asked himself into the recording, "But first one must minimize the chances of outside inference on the experiment."

 **XXX**

Some people screened calls on their cell phone. Bennett found it an annoying quirk of the era. It was no great difficulty to answer and hang up on a telemarketer. Just like with the law, you should give people a chance to speak before passing judgement.

"Good afternoon Detective Bennett, this is Hugo Strange," Hugo Strange said over the line. Though he had met the man only briefly, he left an impression. One of those types where their being smart almost hung around them like the smell of tobacco on a longtime smoker.

And that voice, it was perfectly polite and somehow off.

"Did something happen with Yin?" Ethan asked, mind jumping.

"No, not as you are thinking. It is your reaction to think something has gone wrong, and then seek information so as to act to aid, correct," Hugo Strange asked.

"Uh, yeah? I'm sorry, what can I do for you?" Ethan asked.

"It is not on my own behalf I am calling. I am told you visited Detective Yin, effectively inviting yourself into her personal space. In addition to numerous calls," he said.

"That's right. Just checking in on my…" He trailed off, and Strange stepped on that line smoothly.

"Former partner? You are a man who seeks to protect and rescue, it is why you were drawn to the police force despite lacking a violent tendency. In this case, you feel a need to reach out. I must inform you it is folly. Detective Yin is recovering from assault rooted in home invasion, assault, and captivity in which she was subjected to torture. It is vital that she be the instigator of any contact that is nonessential to her treatment. To impose yourself, even with noble intent, could have dire results," Strange said calmly.

Ethan felt a chill as the implication sank in.

"I didn't mean-" Ethan started to say.

"Your intentions are not relevant to how Detective Yin perceives them subconsciously. I ask you to bear this in mind before taking any further action on your own. Good day," Strange said, hanging up.

 **XXX**

The TV no longer served as background noise. Too much news about the Batman. Another maniac now on the line-up, this one centered on that closed Wonderland amusement park.

Joker had put the final nail in that coffin, she recalled, with an attack there. Theme parks weren't her thing, but it was another part of the city that had been brought down by madness.

Savoring the lack of sound, she cut through the heavy duty tape on her most recent package. Unfolding the lid, she was pleased it was all in order. But first she had to clear some more space. Well, it wasn't much, but the television could go in the corner for now. It was a start.

But first, she jogged to the bathroom, the tingling started. Closing her eye as she looked into the brown, she skillfully twisted the bottle open and poured out the correct number of pills.

She knew it didn't take effect instantly, but it felt like it. And that was rather the point with painkillers.

 **XXX**

"We really should make more time," Bruce said as they rode up the elevator. Ethan chuckled.

"Can't make time, Bruce, just have to use what you're given best as you can," the detective chuckled.

"Really Ethan, that sounds like a wise old man line," Bruce said. Ethan just smiled at the playful barb.

"Well, with March Hare slipping out along with the Joker and Cobblepot's escape, I am going to be feeling old soon enough. At least Cash is getting his feet under him," Ethan said.

"Speaking of partners, I still can't believe you haven't seen her in these months, Ethan," Bruce said. Ethan rubbed the back of his neck as the door opened and they stepped out.

"The doc was very clear on respecting boundaries. Honestly, I'm a little unsure about this here," Ethan admitted sheepishly.

"She's supposed to come into the department tomorrow anyway as the four months are up, right? You've given her space; I think it's time to reach out a little," Bruce said.

"Well, she didn't say no. But if she's not onboard, we leave right off, got it?" Ethan said as they reached her door. Which had brown grocery bags sitting in front of it?

Ethan was crouching already, before thinking better of it. Exchanging a look with Bruce, he knocked on the door.

"Yin, it's me and Bruce. I think you got a delivery?" Ethan called. No answer.

…

"Maybe she's out?" Bruce said. Then they hard footsteps approaching. The door opened quickly and Yin was there, wearing a gray gym shirt and shorts. Visibly sweating, he guessed she had just been working out.

The smell was also a clue.

"Sorry, last track of the time," she said, stepping back from the doorway. She brushed some hair back behind her ear. It was shorter, Ethan realized, stepping in. Glancing back, he saw she had cut it off at her shoulder. She was wearing one of those masks the doctors had given her. He had thought she was done with those.

But, well, he hadn't been in touch, so doctor's orders could change, he thought as Yin snatched a grocery bag from Bruce to put on her counter.

"So, you ordered groceries?" he asked.

"Didn't feel like going to the store today," she said. Ethan caught something through the door to the living room, and looked through.

Surprises don't get any less surprising, that's why they are surprises. In this case, he was surprised the living room that dominated the mass of Yin's apartment seemed to have been converted into a gym. Looking around, the only spacious spot left was a padded section of floor he quickly assumed was for non-weight training. And there was the furniture and such, shoved tidily into a corner.

"Been working out?" he asked over his shoulder.

"It takes my mind off things," Yin answered.

So could TV and reading or the internet, his mind rattled off. He was one to pump the iron himself; his rec membership wasn't for show, after all. Yin was on a different level, of course, just like as a cop. No one had ever offered him the kind of promotion she turned down, after all.

He felt things getting awkward as she unpacked her groceries. She looked pale, he realized. It might have been the mask and light. But he noticed more brown grocery bags in the kitchen trash can peeking out.

Didn't feel like going out 'today'?

'Don't be a detective about this!' Ethan admonished. He excused himself to use the restroom, she reminded him he knew where it was.

Entering the bathroom, he was faced with brown. Firm brown paper, the kind that they might use for part of packing. And it was carefully taped up with duct tape, covering the bathroom mirror entirely. And on the counter, there was only a toothbrush set out and a series of pill bottles.

He stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door gently. Turning around, the bedroom door was slightly ajar.

He was a detective. He pushed it open gently, taking a look. The bed was pristinely made, no surprise. But at the foot of it there were dumbbells of four different weight brackets. And the mirror on the dresser was also neatly covered by that sturdy paper.

He walked back to the kitchen; Ellen's back was turned as Bruce talked about the latest Knights' game.

"I didn't hear a flush," Ellen said, without turning.

"I saw your mirror," Ethan said. She stopped putting a box of oatmeal onto a shelf and turned. But it was the covered blind side, so she stopped and turned her head the other way.

"Oh yeah. What, you wanted to spruce yourself up? You really have been hanging around Wayne too much," Yin said.

"Hey now, I just might resemble that remark," Bruce said. There was levity in his voice, but it didn't take.

"Those delivery bags in the trash. When was the last time you left this apartment, Yin?" Ethan asked.

"And when was the last time you came here without back up? First Tankinson, now Wayne? You can't possibly think I want to see them, so why drag them over here?" Ellen demanded.

"Don't change the subject. You took your time on those mirrors, and not telling me why straight up means there is an issue you don't want to say," Ethan pressed, coming completely into the kitchen.

"It's my apartment, none of your business," she said.

"I think my partner barricading herself in and doing strange things while recovering is-"

"Back off!" Ellen hissed. Ethan stopped still; he had backed her into a corner on the counter. Her eye was wide, her body braced and tense.

Had he been shouting?

Oh God.

"I, we should go," he said, stepping back feeling his shoulders sag. Ellen nodded, breathing loudly.

Ethan didn't say anything until they were in the elevator. And that was in response to Bruce.

"Ethan? Are you okay?" Bruce asked.

"No… Bruce, don't spread this around, okay? But I think I need to have some words with Hugo Strange," Ethan said, frowning at the elevator door.

 **XXX**

"Detective Benett, I am impressed. You held out significantly longer than I anticipated," Strange said over the phone.

"…"

"Yes, I expected this, Detective. It was a simple matter of both what I know of you, and the precedent established in similar cases for friends or family to impose themselves in the process. Hardly ever with any ill intent, indeed a sincere desire to help in the recovery process," Strange said.

Ethan gathered himself from the surprise.

"Yes, I saw Ellen, she was-"

"Allow me to finish for you, Detective. Defensive, paranoid even. Showing reclusive tendencies. Evasive on matters while behaving differently from the past with signs of obsession and self-imposed isolation?"

"Uh, yeah. She's basically turned her apartment into a gym and covered the mirrors."

"All of which is her asserting control over her environment. She does not want to wear a mask or see her scars, and so covers the mirrors. Allowing her to not feel threatened in her own home. Similarly, her shift in habits and remodeling come down to a need to assert herself. Assure herself she still retains some degree of control over her own life.

"None of this surprises me, Detective. And while progress is far from excellent, nor is it amiss. Detective Yin is having to retreat as, whether she admits it or not, her old life is over and she will have to build a new one. This retreat into the shell is predictable. And it must play out before one could coax her from it.

"Detective, I remind you that this is not your crime scene. I am the professional here, and I know what I am doing. As a policeman, you are well aware how well-intended outsiders lacking training and experience might meddle only to greatly worsen a situation.

"I expect you managed to corner her and had to withdraw before it became physical?" Strange asked. It would be better if he sounded angry, but his tone was constant.

"Yes," Ethan admitted.

"I will be frank. Out of concern for my patient, if you continue to impose yourself, I will strongly suggest reprimand. You have your cases, Detective, and I have mine. It is best we both stay out of them."

 _Arkham Asylum, Professor Strange's Office:_

"Trauma is the key." Strange said into the recording, "Both physical and mental. Social isolation, as I have replicated in this case, is part of the formula. But it is not enough, merely preparing the field for madness to take root. For that insanity to blossom into a Rogue, something more is needed.

"One of the most well documented cases of a Rogue is Oswald Cobblepot, better known as the Penguin. Born to affluence, his physical deformities nonetheless saw him hidden from the limelight and shortly sent into effective exile. By all accounts, he never suffered physical abuse, but the distancing from his family and being surrounded by servants who were clearly bought and paid for their presence sent a message of him being unwanted. He endured this, and acquired many of the skills that would later aid his criminal career. While at the same time surrounded by servants who treated him as an employer hampered his social development.

"What made the Penguin, was not the neglect or isolation. Or even the anger at being exiled, being all but declared a shame on the name Cobblepot. Based on my interviews, I believe it was nothing more or less than his presence at the reading of his parents' will. When he learned the Cobblepot fortune had been utterly squandered. This is the first documented case of him losing control and engaging in unprovoked physical violence. Likely due to anger, his obedience, however grudging, would receive no reward. And as he has slipped during sessions, a belief his parents saw him as no true Cobblepot and thus saw no reason to leave him anything of that legacy.

"And it would seem this belief is the root of his obsession with the Cobblepot legacy. A drive to prove they were wrong that he is not only worthy but the worthiest. How? By restoring the Cobblepots to their former glory. He is likely able, on some level, to realize he will never succeed. Even if he were to gain the capital, his social ineptness and criminal status ensure he will never be embraced by society as the princely figure he aspires to be.

"Hence the deep hatred of Bruce Wayne, I have discovered. The Prince of Gotham possesses everything Mr. Cobblepot feels he has been denied. Not only fortune and status, but a physical form that ensures him acceptance. His well-documented success with women is also noted. And perhaps most telling, the relationship perceived between Bruce Wayne and his late parents. Not only the so-called loving nature, but from what I uncovered, Mr. Cobblepot envies that they died while he was so young.

"Though reluctant to face it, Cobblepot harbors a belief had his own parents died sooner he would not be forsaken. Bruce Wayne, in this loss, Cobblepot saw gaining the kingdom that much sooner, even able to travel abroad on what many think allowed him to cultivate his hedonism with no one to oppose him.

"Not all are isolated. But all have suffered some trauma; the nature varies, but an act sends them beyond the realm of conventional insanity. Sends them into that uncharted territory where they become Rogues. Detective Yin has already begun to slip into madness. But it is not enough to withdraw into her shell. If I am to test my theories, she must be drawn out, exposed."

 **XXX**

She had decided to forego the mask after showering. She had been careful to keep them clean, and good looking, though admittedly save for Ethan's intrusion, there had been no need.

Had it really been so long? Save for night time taxi rides to Arkham, had she really been shut in this whole time?

Dressing well for the meeting, she was confronted by her taped over dresser mirror. Yeah, hadn't really had time to spruce up either.

Peeling off an edge, she just ripped away, taking near half off diagonally. Enough.

Stepping back, she nodded her head. Aside from the obvious, she looked alright.

 **XXX**

She realized she had made a mistake by the time she was walking through the department's doors.

So many stares. Not just the cab driver — apparently the night shift was sterner stuff — but just the small distance in walking to the stairs. And she had in the cab felt as if, had she looked around, people would be watching from their own cars.

No, she was not just going to hide. She was here to show she was ready to get back on with her life.

There was no meeting with the Chief this time. It was a thin, bald African-American man named Joeston. He had a rank and uniform, but she had a strong feeling the almost cubicle jockey, despite the salt in his stupid too-thin mustache, had never seen a real beat.

She was deep in paper pusher territory of the station. She did not recall feeling so at ease in it before, though.

And he kept trying not to stare.

Then he said it.

"Indefinite leave?" Yin repeated it as a question. There must have been something in her tone, because the scrawny man looked up from his papers to stare at her for a clear moment before his eyes drifted to the scars.

"Well, yes, not unexpected."

"I was told four months," Yin said, keeping her voice level.

"Four months? Detective, that period was never about expecting you to come back at the end. It was time for mental and physical evaluation and observation of you by the relevant professionals and for Personnel to consider your case. Evaluations have been made, and this is the result," Joeston said. While still looking away, he was speaking clearly. Someone was typing in the next not-quite cubicle. When it stopped, Yin spoke, eye locked on the paper pusher.

"So what? You're never going to even decide to put me behind a desk?" Yin demanded.

"In-indefinite does not mean forever," he stuttered, raising a hand slightly.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. It means, it means the relevant professionals feel it would be impractical to assign a timetable to your recovery with so many variables. Your case, of course, would be routinely reviewed-"

"What does the Chief want from me?" Ellen demanded.

"He has nothing to do with this, Detective. It's not his department now that you are-are-" he stared up at her wide-eyed.

"Now that I am what?" she demanded. Sweat ran down the side of his face, and Yin realized two things. One, she had gotten out of the chair, and was leaning over the desk, hands planted on the desk, all but forcing the other officer to scrunch down in his desk chair. And two, the room was quiet. She could practically hear the other office jockeys listening, and turning her head saw a real cop lurking half-hidden by the doorway, watching her.

This, this did not look good, she realized, sitting back down.

 **XXX**

"You told them to keep me benched," she accused Strange, once they were alone in his office. Strange did not answer, taking the time to sit down in the chair.

"I notice you are wearing the mask again," he remarked.

"Do not dodge the question," she snapped.

"You have not asked a question, Detective Yin," he pointed out, tapping his fingers together.

"…Why did you tell them to keep me off the force?" she asked.

"That was a question. The answer, Detective Yin, is that you are not ready to return. Given time, you have chosen the turtle's approach, withdrawing of your own accord. As you wish to return to your active role on the streets of Gotham, this tendency must be overcome first. To proceed otherwise would only invite further troubles between you and your superiors," Strange said.

She sat back down but still glared at him.

"So what do you want from me?" she demanded.

"Hmm, the proper question is what do you want, I believe?" Strange said.

Yin stopped herself from snapping that he was not being straight with her. But he was a shrink, what did she expect?

"So I need to 'get out there', you are saying? Didn't go so well today," she pointed out.

"If one approach fails, perhaps try another? Instead of going outdoors, exposing yourself to pursue a goal, perhaps the goal to pursue is spending time outside your apartment?" he suggested.

That… well, it sounded fairly sensible. Like with any skill, social in this case, you had to build up to it.

"What about jogging?" she asked. Strange smiled.

 **XXX**

Well, she never said anything about the jogging being during the day, Ellen thought as she tied her shoes. She was leaning against her kitchen counter, foot raised for the finishing touch.

She had swapped out her usual workout top for something better suited to the outdoors. It was chilly out these days, after all.

Putting her foot down, she turned to the door.

Sighing, she had to admit it was a problem, wasn't it? Not as bad as Strange made it out, but still. Well, she would fix it. It was just like any obstacle — with proper understanding and determination, she could beat it.

Opening the door, she walked down the hallway. These were the wee hours of the morning, so there wasn't traffic. Still, she opted for the stairs rather than the elevator. Stairs did make for a good workout. No reason she couldn't build her body and confidence together after all.

 _27 Minutes Later:_

She almost slammed the door behind herself as she stormed into the apartment. She managed to catch herself, closing it gently with a click.

The detective was breathing hard. It had been, quite the run back.

That stupid little punk!

But it was alright. No one saw. They wouldn't know.

She just hadn't been expecting it. He'd hit a blind-spot she hadn't expected. He probably wouldn't even say it was a woman. Pig like that, would probably rather pull out one of his own teeth than admit to being beaten up by a woman.

And using that trash can on him…

She slid down the side of the counter to sit on the floor.

No, she would not let it stop her. She was not a turtle or a porcupine, she was not going to back down.

But, some precautionary measures may be needed.

Before the sun rose, she had ordered herself a nice black ski mask. just as a transition, of course. The point was, she was going to be getting out and not let her apartment be her prison.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 _It felt great to get this out. I hope you all enjoyed it._


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